


55mm

by orphan_account



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Code Geass
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of one-shots dedicated to a pairing that came out of a roleplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. versus

There were times when Rolo panicked and had to turn onto his side to make sure Zuko was still there after waking in a cold sweat. He would put a hand on his cheek, or on his arm if he had his back facing him, and had to make sure Zuko was real. Rolo would pinch himself, sigh, and then fall asleep, sometimes not moving his hand. He had to be reassured constantly that he was there, since there were times when he wasn't.   
  
Zuko had made promises, though, and Rolo was always glad that he usually didn't make empty promises. He was glad that he himself had been so determined to keeping Zuko by his side, and that they had been together for what felt like ages. He was happy; when he was kissed and held, Rolo knew he wanted to be kissed and held by this person, by Zuko. So when he kissed him, and on the nights he gave his body, always a bit modest when he did, he was glad that it was now only for him. He entrusted his entire being into his hands, and it would stay that way. Those nights where he was left clinging to him and leaving marks for the morning after, always made him needy to touch Zuko. He either had his hands on Zuko's back, or cupping his cheeks for a kiss. He never understood why he did it, and he never questioned it. He felt empty without it, and that's all he could really understand from it.   
  
Zuko, too, had to touch him during those nights. Sometimes it was the soft caresses during, or the reassuring caress before the first thrust. He usually kept his hands on his hips, giving gentle squeezes from time to time. He never dug his nails into his skin, though sometimes Rolo would dig his nails into his back, and he was always so gentle (except for a few bold, wild nights). Every kiss was meaningful, and every sound was only for the other, and the touches were endless, reassuring. After the whole session, they would touch subtly, thread fingers through hair, outline a jawline. There were more words than caresses, more smiles than words, as sleepy as they may be. These nights were guaranteed a not-panicked Rolo, calm and knowing he was secure.   
  
He figured, on a night he was panicked, that if he felt complete, Zuko would be there. He knew he would be there no matter what, but he couldn't help but feel a bit frightened when he wasn't held, or there was a significant amount of space between Zuko and himself (he would scoot in closer to make up for the space if that happened). After sleeping with him for so many nights, he would think that he'd grow past such worries.   
  
The night after, he voiced his concerns to Zuko, sheepish and a bit embarrassed that there were times he panicked. He was then told not to worry, the first obvious answer, followed by a promise that he would be there every night. The words were enough, and he relaxed, mind eased.   
  
Just those words alone were enough to help him sleep that night, and for the nights ahead.


	2. soft skeleton

Zuko swears he can feel Rolo's heart beat through his ribs. He swears he can trace every vein to the centre of his body, swears he can map out his whole body with how almost translucent his skin is. He swears he can not just feel his heart beat out through his chest, but see it. He can see the quickened heart race through his skin, bones, and muscle. He traces the spot, a small shape made by an index finger.   
  
"I must disturb you, then," Rolo breaks, embarrassed that all of his cracks were exposed, all of his roadmaps found. Zuko shakes his head, kissing the spot where his heart beat. It stopped, he thought, and then raced once more at the soft kiss. "You can see my ribs, it's horrible..."  
  
"It's not horrible," Zuko murmurs. He thumbs over Rolo's stomach, the younger man breathing in as he looks up at his partner. The contrasts of their bodies are made more apparant by Zuko's outlining. Zuko is broad-shoulded, chiseled, hard, and with scars from fighting, Agni Kais, and foolish acts against others. He is strong, indestructable. Conversely, Rolo is soft, bones exposed, not a muscle on him, too-thin, and long-legged. He has the softest face, round despite how thin he is. He has no scars, no marks out of the ordinary. His skin is smooth, and not flawed, unlike the rest of him. He's delicate, and bruises easily. In a turn to give attention to Zuko, he traces every muscle outline of him, the skin-path uneven, untraceable by veins, but marked by muscle. He doesn't just skirt across his arms and his broad shoulders, but reaches up Zuko's neck, stopping on the scarred side of his face, where he caresses delicately, tenderly. Zuko leans into the hand, and smiles. "You're always so gentle there."  
  
"It's compulsary," he whispers. His hand buries into thick, mussed up black hair. Zuko moves to bury himself into the crook of one of Rolo's shoulders, letting his hand move away and rest on the bed. Rolo combs through with both hands, kissing his head, holding him close. He feels the scars made by his own fingernails on Zuko's back, fresh, some of them having bled. Zuko never minded, though. Rolo thanked him for that. Zuko kisses his neck, leaning his body against Rolo's. Rolo jokes, "Don't break me."   
  
"I wouldn't dare," Zuko says, turning himself and Rolo over so he was on his back, and Rolo was on him. Rolo's pelvis is sharp, penetrating, and uncomfortable. Zuko doesn't say anything regarding any of those facts.  
  
"You're warm," Rolo states, drowsily. Zuko finds this amusing-- he's always warm to Rolo. It's almost as if Rolo is always cold. Maybe he was. Zuko scoots Rolo closer with his arms, up until they were nose to nose, and Rolo's untidy, brown hair tickles his cheeks. Rolo breathes in, and Zuko exhales.  
  
"You're beautiful," he says firmly, causing Rolo to look away, embarrassed. He reddens easily, the red against his skin showing off his pores and heightening the color of his eyes. Zuko kisses a red cheek, smiles against it, and holds him tighter. "You should see the way you look, now."  
  
"I can only imagine I'm scarlet."  
  
"Definitely."  
  
Rolo looks at Zuko momentarily, looking down sheepishly after. A kiss is stolen, given, and deepened by each of the two men, the contrast in the kiss as sharp as their physical shapes. Rolo's is needy, beckoning, and enrapturing. Zuko's is loving, taking, and overpowering. They part, and Rolo keeps his lips near Zuko just incase he wanted to kiss him again. His chest is against his, and he supports himself against Zuko. Rolo kisses him once more, melting into Zuko completely, and intaking the air from his lungs.


	3. daylight

There's something ethereal about Rolo, Zuko decides. 

He can't tell if it's the brown, curly hair that curves just at his cheeks. He can't tell if it's his voice, soft and smoothing, that sometimes puts him to sleep (though it's never his words that do that). Maybe it's his big, magenta eyes that he looks at. Maybe it's his thin arms and wrists, or his soft and delicate hands he holds. Maybe it's his slim waist, or his cute little legs that he covers with knee-socks, unless he's alone with Zuko, when Zuko can peel those knee-socks off and see what hides underneath. Maybe it's his mole on his thigh that no one else has ever seen. Maybe it's the way he moves, laughs, cries, kisses, touches. 

Maybe it's everything about Rolo that's ethereal.

Zuko looks over at him in their sunlit kitchen, over a plate of handmade pancakes. Rolo's eyes are shut, his cheeks flush with the warm feelings of good, just-as-warm food. Zuko's fork hovers, maple syrup dripping as he watches Rolo eat, his lips wrapping around a cold folk, making sure not to spill a drop. It's a bit funny, he thinks, that he takes in such a sight more hungrily than his own meal. He thinks it's also a bit funny he's focusing so much on Rolo nowadays, ever since they moved, ever since they got married. 

Rolo smiles sweetly when he catches Zuko staring at him. He leans over (in that beautiful, entrancing way -- slowly and with liquid grace) his tongue grazing delicately over a spot of maple-syrup on his mouth. Zuko flushes red, Rolo chuckling as he nudges the other playfully, laughing sweetly, sweeter than maple. They always sit next to each other, rather than across from each other. The table has four chairs, yet they moved them to have two on one side, two on another. At times, they sit across from each other to play around flirtatiously, teenager-like. Usually it's not like that. They desire closeness. Zuko desires closeness. Rolo gives it to him, because he, too, desires that closeness more than any other human.

They feed each other pieces of pancakes, laughing when syrup gets suck on skin, each lapping it up without indecency, without ill intentions. They blush a bit, teenager-like once more, legs bumping and caressing and telling jokes as they laugh, shaking against one another.

After, Rolo gets up to wash the dishes, yellow apron folded over the oven-rack to be washed later. He hums out softly, voice gentle. Zuko knows the melody he hums, having heard it many times from a certain charm. It's melancholic, but Rolo hums it with joy, as though he was some Disney princess whistling while she worked. He shakes his head, gets up, and wraps his arms around Rolo's ethereal body, chin on his shoulder as he looks out the window. Rolo's hands stop for a moment, the humming halting as the male looks up briefly. He smiles more and continues, leaning his body back into Zuko's comfortably.

"I love you," Zuko murmurs, pressing a kiss to a cheek. Rolo chuckles quietly, placing the last dish on the rack. He turns around, wet, warm hands coming up to Zuko's neck. His fingers dance in the daylight that shines in, his blush heightened by sun. His smile is warm, morning-like.

"I love you, too," Rolo replies, leaning in for a maple-sweet kiss. It's tantalizing, leaving Zuko dazed as Rolo dries dishes, puts them away, cleans the table. His husband watches him, scooping him up once he's done and taking him off somewhere only they know.


	4. shorelines

On some clear-sky sunny days, Zuko and Rolo stay in bed. They do a few morning rituals, eat a small meal, dote on their bird, Phoebus, and then return to their bedroom. The city roars beneath them, nature echoes into their four-walled nest. The white swirls of sheets and bedding are brightened by the naked sun. Their skin flares up, every crack and pore exposed by the omnipresent sunrays. Their lips, cracks scarring them, are warmed up. They meet, their lips a pair of lovers who have been missing each other. They stay close, as if one of the two will be stolen away from some unknown force if they weren't close together. They mingle, held by the one another, held by strong arms. While the secret lovers meet, Zuko and Rolo make eye contact. They look into each other, eyes darting as if they were reading pages of a book. They blink, despite not wanting to, despite not wanting to risk something so precious as a second of the other's time.   
  
Zuko combs through Rolo's hair. Their lips are meters apart, as if engaged in conversation, catching up on old times. The physical pair, the vessels of muscle and blood and bone and all things human, remain silent. Rolo's only vocalization is a soft hum, light, vibrant. Zuko's lips crack. He smiles. Rolo smiles, too, his cheeks pained by the over-exertion of muscles. It always brings slight pain for him. He never, ever complains. He knows Zuko finds him so brilliant and radiant when he smiles, that it just makes him smile more. It's as if Zuko had complimented him by stroking his hair, by smiling at his hum. It was as if Zuko had said that his hum was "pretty", that it sounded wonderful.  
  
Maybe it did.  
  
Zuko's calloused hands roam over an ocean. They are tides, crashing on a sandy beach, carrying and leaving imprints on the sand. They roll back and forth, up the shores of a certain brown-haired boy, who welcomes each harsh tide. Rolo puts his hands on the back of Zuko's neck, ghosting downward. His hands smooth out bumps Zuko cannot see. They relax his tense muscles, and they wipe his slate clean. His worries, all of his troubles, his haunting past: Rolo erases them all. He is the ocean, the sand in between his toes, the smooth rocks he finds along the shore. He is the clean, fresh air of nature that filters through his dirty lungs.   
  
Tides crash over Rolo. They are needy tides, rushing to a beach that can't hear them. The tides are a cursed lover, whose love interest is locked in a tower far, far away. The evil stepmother, Fate, drags the tides to and fro its beloved, only to never let them embrace each other fully. The beach is an ill-fated prince, sleeping infinitely, for its true love can never kiss him and break the curse.   
  
Yet, Zuko can kiss Rolo. He does, and he hugs his body close. Rolo is overwhelmed by a warm rush, passion seeping into his exposed pores. Their lips are locked together, bound tightly by an embrace so romantic, it could only end in tragedy.  
  
Despite all of the neediness and kept-away love affairs, they roll without worry. Their bodies crash against each other, ribs poking muscle, muscle engulfing a soft body. Rolo's laughter resounds across four walls, the only noise within the past half-hour. Zuko follows him, the laugh dying as Rolo breathes, his chest on Zuko's.   
  
They stay there, looking at one another, thumbing through book-pages once more. They read "I love you" written a thousand times, cover to cover. White sheets dangle from the white bed, and their bodies rise in sync, heart beats a soft hum, filling the void. They kiss, reuniting lovers once more.  
  
They stay that way, locked, eventually sleeping. They breathe each other in subconsciously, body flooded with the other. A blanket falls admist a slight shuffle, both men still holding on, no matter what position fall into.   
  
Overhead, the sun sleeps and the moon takes its place, shining.


	5. cold

Zuko is Rolo's personal heater once winter kicks in. Zuko doesn't mind, necessarily, but he insists Rolo dresses warmer (those kneesocks aren't keeping his skinny legs warm, obviously) and he insists on Rolo putting the  _actual_  heater on once in a while. Rolo doesn't agree to the latter, usually. He likes Zuko's warmth. He likes his body when it's with Zuko's, whether it's curled up on a couch or resting on the bed. He likes to be sucked into it, made drowsy by the pleasurable feeling of coldness going away. He's almost child-like, getting up on the couch and immediately settling in Zuko's lap whenever he needs to return or finally rest from his household chores, expecting to be heated and comfortable.   
  
He does so now while snow collects on their apartment windows and on the ground below. The room is made colder by the sight, Zuko pulling a blanket out as he got chilly. Firebenders needed their warmth, too. Rolo curls up underneath the blankets, shivering. He wears warmer clothes, pants even, but he's still so cold. Zuko joked one time that his body temperature was naturally low. Rolo shrugged, thinking that maybe it was true. He didn't know.  
  
"My nose is cold," Rolo murmurs, shifting. Zuko puts one of his hands over Rolo's, quickly pulling it away after.   
  
"You weren't lying. I think you need to wear extra layers. You're always freezing," Zuko replies, holding Rolo close to him. Rolo nods in response, finding the remote on the arm rest nearby. He flicks through the channels on the television, stopping at a Christmas special being broadcasted. He smiles a bit, setting the remote down. "Excited for Christmas?"  
  
"Mm. I really like that holiday. Everyone seems to be in a good mood..." he says, resting his head against Zuko's chest. He watches the television, almost transfixed. Zuko can't help but smile down at him.   
  
"You're like a little kid. It's cute."  
  
"Why do you say that?" Rolo asks, almost pouting as he looks up at Zuko. His husband shrugs, playing with Rolo's hair for a bit. Rolo relaxes even more, looking back at the television. Zuko gives him some heat, putting a finger on his nose. Rolo laughs softly and it's Zuko who melts. He hugs his smaller-framed husband, face buried in his curly hair. Rolo doesn't complain, but instead leans into the hug, hands on the arms that hold him under a blanket (which falls off). His forehead is kissed, as is his nose, and Rolo smiles wider.   
  
"We should take a walk later. We'll have to wear a lot of layers, but I'll keep you warm if you're still cold," Zuko suggests. Rolo nods, returning his attention to the screen in front of them. Zuko does the same, actually finding enjoyment in the film.   
  
He doesn't admit it, though.


	6. panic

Rolo hates panicking more than anything. He hates making a mistake and paying for it in sweat, a shaky body, and his insecurities breaking the surface, falling from his lips or not falling at all, maybe only brimming but caught by ear or eye. Still understood, still heard.   
  
The boy is panicking this second, fingers unable to grasp other fingers. His attacks came frequently these days -- triggered by looming, haunting nightmares that pulled him from the far reaches of his (seemingly) safe imagination, waking him from sleep, jolting him and causing him to struggle for a steady breath. His attacks would choke him, drill a hole into his cerebral cortex and sever connections, preventing him from responding properly. His body would jerk, sweat dripping from brow and every pore. His heart would race, cardiac arrhythmia already forcing it to move fast as it was. His panics drove his heart into overdrive, and if he were to be scared alongside this, he'd die.  
  
But of course, it is never this severe. All he does is shake, curl up, breathe raggedly. He dwells on darker times where his body has no control, where he is a man possessed, cursed with blood the color of black, black like an unlit hallway that never ended, never stopped stretching. He bled black. His heart was black, shriveled up, dead. Yet he lived.  
  
He still lives.  
  
He's not possessed by things drilled into him since he was the feeble age of six. He isn't dying at the hands of his brother, whose attention he still seeks. He's not being used by anyone for personal gain or just because he could be used, because he was an able body. Rolo is living his own life, is sixteen and making free choices as a human being. His heart is red, his blood is blue but red upon oxygen reaching it. He is not possessed, but exorcised. Cleansed.   
  
He shakes, his balance overturned momentarily. What causes Rolo to panic now is something little, something so laughable it's pathetic. The reason why he's frightened, jittery, reeling about his mental instability is all because of one thing:  
  
Zuko woke up before him.  
  
It isn't such a simple thing to Rolo. The fact Zuko was awake doesn't disturb him. The fact he gets up to use the bathroom doesn't make his breathing short, gasping. No, it's the fact he's not next to Rolo, not in a room within a few steps' reach. Zuko wandered to fix something to eat, to watch television, to make tea, to do  _something._  
  
It startles the unstable boy. He's so used to being attached to his security blanket that he's at a loss of what to do, if briefly. This was the first week together, the first week Zuko officially moved in. Rolo had no worries of him leaving the next day to return to a shabby apartment across town. His home was Rolo's, clean and fresh and lively and serene.   
  
Rolo's mind wasn't as fresh as his home. His mind was cluttered, just as it is in that moment when he gets out of his bed, big enough for the two of them. It's day three of Zuko moving in. It's day three and he isn't in bed, isn't returning, isn't just making a short trip to the bathroom.  
  
He wanders out barefoot, stepping cautiously as though he is an animal venturing out into the wild, or to its new owner's arms (the latter being the most appropriate in this setting). Upon entering his living room,  _their_  living room, he sees Zuko on the couch. The television is on low, on some channel Rolo didn't care to recognize. His movements are suddenly fast, and even though he startles Zuko, it doesn't stop him from moving to latch onto him. He hears the yelp escape his prince, his owner, his security blanket. His hands flew up in shock, but quickly, awkwardly come down around the smaller man.  
  
"M-Morning... you could have said hello," Zuko says, feebly, voice raspy as usual. Rolo hums. He tightens his grip, his nightmares slip into the subconscious as the conscious takes over. He lets out a shaky, panic-threatening sigh out. Zuko hears it. He hears insecurity, feels it bubble in Rolo's core. Sees it. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I had a nightmare," Rolo whispers, childish. He was cuddling onto a blanket given to him, a teddy bear he found and cleaned up. He tightens the grip on his security, his safety net, webbed by an eight-legged being known as Fate. "Why weren't you next to me?"  
  
"I was hungry and didn't want to wake you up," is the truthful response. Rolo hums in acknowledgment. So that was it. He was abandoned for food, for a need to be fulfilled. That was simple. He understood that. His grip isn't so overbearing as he takes in the truth, the simple reason. Now he is a fool, a selfish fool for needing Zuko to stay by his side. He could have starved Zuko, could have kept him like some fly trapped in his own webbing. But Zuko escaped, slipped out.  
  
There's a pregnant pause, nine months long. Rolo shifts as Zuko squeezes him, calms him down. He doesn't ask about the dream. Doesn't need to. He's seen it already. Abandonment was the nightmare. Rolo dreamt he was some forgotten face, left behind as Zuko went on to do novel things without him. He felt Rolo's insecurity, his fear and longing all meshed together.  
  
But Zuko being Zuko, being a confused sixteen year old himself, didn't understand the magnitude of Rolo's nightmares and daymares and other -mares. He didn't understand that he would only chip more insecurities into the other in the future, that everything would break Rolo, that he would break Rolo. Rolo will take him back with open arms, tears in his eyes as Zuko hurts him, breaks him, calls him a monster. He doesn't know this will come to pass as he calms his lover down, his sanctuary of the morning.  
  
HHe moves to fix his own breakfast, Zuko hungry enough to eat Rolo's cooking that only improves over time. As he eats, they talk, Rolo forgetting his attack from the morning as his focus settles on his lover, his everything. He isn't aware that in a year's time he would be wearing a ring, that they'd sit closer together. He isn't aware the table will get more chairs, the room would have new things in it. He doesn't know that every morning, he will wake up in Zuko's arms. He's never abandoned in the future. He's kissed awake, he makes breakfast, he enjoys the day in and hardly ever out. He makes a world inside with Zuko in a year's time.  
  
He washes his plates and cleans up, unaware that Zuko would get up and kiss him in the future as he does this mundane task. He glances up at him, hoping this would happen now, not thinking about the future, not thinking about anything else.  
  
Now, Zuko moves to get up, wash his hand, thank Rolo for the meal as he figures out where to take him this afternoon. Rolo smiles, insecure and panicky. His hands shake when Zuko leaves him now.  
  
Soon, Zuko never will.  
  
Rolo waits.


	7. snapshot

i.   
  
Rolo breathes, sitting on the left-side edge of the double bed he shares with Zuko. He stares, groggily, out of a window that faces the city from a second story apartment, birds echoing in a far distance. His hair is messy, his eyes heavy from being half-awake. The blanket slips off his shoulders, sun tickling them in the broad daylight. Zuko walks in from the bathroom, but stops short. His boyfriend is mesmerizing. He didn't take in the thought as well in a jarble of confusion and heated emotions the previous night, but he looks upon Rolo in a different view in that instant. His skin is pure, his features are practically flawless. While his face is vacant, drowsy, Zuko finds it all as beautiful as the rest of him.   
  
He turns, after a moment of recognizing the energy of another person in the room, eyes falling on a hardly-clothed man, much like himself. His smile is half-awake, but his eyes light up on the spot, full and alert.   
  
"Good morning," he says, voice cracking.   
  
"...'morning," is all Zuko can manage.   
  
ii.   
  
There is a sharp contrast between them, and it isn't just physical. Rolo is focused constantly on schoolwork, on scholarship and supplied money through the Academy for his small, one bedroom apartment. Zuko has it all paid for by his family, but he works part-time at a local video store and pays his own rent for a shoddy apartment across from school. Rolo doesn't quite understand why; perhaps it's because Zuko wishes to feel independent. All the same, he visits Zuko at his five to nine monotonous job. Tonight, he is stacking videos on the far end shelves.   
  
Instead of sneaking up on him, or annoying him, Rolo skims the aisles, stopping in the "romantic comedy" section. His fingers wander over the titles, head down, half-paying attention. He crouches when he sees Zuko turn, picking up a classic:  _The Princess Bride_. He doesn't read the title, however, and is instead following Zuko (who has finished his current duty) to the counter for a check out.   
  
"Will that be all?" he asks, finally looking at exactly who was his customer. He doesn't try to show too much surprise, but he does smile, a woman behind Rolo making a small "ooh," as if it was for her. Rolo shakes his head, but hands him the cash for the movie rental anyhow, Zuko taking it with a slight touch to Rolo's hand. "I'll see you in ten."  
  
"I'll be waiting."


	8. aphrodite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These last two involve Rose, sexswapped Rolo.

Every movement was calculated, every curve of the lip was thought of, and every situation was predicted. It was always the same, and it was too easy to see through Zuko's tactics at the present point, as Rose could bet in her mind just what Zuko would say, just how he would touch her, and just how gently. It was always the same, always predicted, and always right on the dot.   
  
Yet, Rose couldn't tell what Zuko was thinking during it all. Did he think that she was truly as beautiful as he said she was? Did he believe that what he was doing would catch her off guard because of Rose's startled gasps (albeit they were feigned; she had known Zuko had a habit of grabbing her when she was doing dishes)? The things he whispered in her ears again and again-- did he think they were novel? Rose would assure him, with a blush, a smile, that he flattered her, that she loved every minute of it. She knew it was inevitable, however. It was always inevitable that he would fall for her again and again, as shown by the tight embraces, marks etched into her neck and the rest of her skin nightly.   
  
There was something Rose would never admit about the embraces, marks, and calculated nothings whispered into her ear: she would slip, fall into the words and embraces, wear the marks proudly, and she would always fall for everything he would tell her, over and over as if it was new, as if she never saw it coming.  
  
In reality, Rose was blind to it all. She would miscalculate, her predictions would be thrown aside as mere conclusions drawn too soon, and she would be so caught off guard she couldn't speak. She would always straighten up and trick her mind into thinking:  _I knew he would say that,_  or,  _He's so predictable, I've heard it all before._  
  
But had she? No. She hadn't ever heard such words whispered into her ear, never heard the compliments that fell onto her skin, etched in and sewn permanently on her "perfect" shoulders. Zuko was a wonder, that Rose really couldn't figure out or understand, no matter how often she lied to herself.   
  
Zuko would disbelieve her if she ever told him she knew what he was up to-- he would ask her what would he say next, and she wouldn't be correct. He would, instead of what she would think up, hold her by her pale wrists and not by her hips, and instead of whisper in her ear without eye contact, he would look at her directly before speaking. And, it would catch her off guard, as it was in the moment it was actually happening, towels no longer in her hands that were so focused on folding them perfectly.  
  
He didn't say anything to her at first, Rose captivated by a single gesture, even if she was the one who held Zuko captive by her reactions. She relaxed, her shoulders no longer tense, her lips curving into a modest smile. Only then did Zuko lean in, Rose's lips giving a slight twitch (something that most people wouldn't notice) in anticipation for a kiss, one that didn't come. Instead he ghosted over her cheek, her jaw, even a small pressed kiss to her nose, temples, forehead, and behind her ears. Only after he was satisfied, he would hold her face in his hands and kiss her firmly, Rose's released hands touching Zuko's neck, nape, and shoulders as the kiss deepened.   
  
They parted, and Zuko, grasping for words, outlined Rose's body shape with his hands, finally ending on her hips with a tightened grip, Rose already scooting closer, hands on Zuko's arms with a mirrored grip.   
  
"You're phenomenal," he whispered, kissing her ear before expounding on his statement, "a Goddess."  
  
In embarrassment, Rose privately criticized the corniness of the argument in her mind, flustered although she found it unoriginal (even if he never called her a Goddess before).   
  
"I'm nowhere close to such a thing," Rose mumbled, breathing changing from the teasing kisses to her ears, which would shift to kisses to her jaw as Zuko fought to crush her retort.   
  
"You're wrong. You're so close to it, in fact, you must be the reincarnation of Aphrodite," Zuko teased, smirk forming as he saw Rose become more embarrassed by such a bold statement. He fingered her hair, taking out the braids and bands that bound her hair, coming through the waves. "Oh, my Aphrodite."  
  
She didn't retort or even plead for Zuko to stop embarrassing her. She, in an miscalculated manner, reeled Zuko in further, nose to nose with him as she clung onto him, her legs the only thing not attached. This time, she kissed him firmly, pressed her weight into the exchange, catching the other off guard entirely. She pressed with all her might, even daring to nip him teasingly on the bottom lip, making Zuko jolt into action, getting up during the heated kiss and moving her legs to wrap around his waist, hands on her thighs. The kiss ended far too soon, chests heaving while Zuko moved, quickening his pace to the bedroom, where he laid his Goddess on the sea of white cotton, climbing over to worship her entirely.


	9. brown curls, blue dress

The wrinkles in Rose's sky-blue dress will never fade. No matter how many times she irons it, no matter how much she smoothes them out, she knows they'll always be there. Indented in material forever. It bothers her, but she's learned to handle it with time. She looks at the wrinkles as she sits down, hand barely touching the stomach that has a small bump now, this dress not going to fit within another week or so. She frowns, a bit discouraged. It's her favorite dress. The dress she wore on her first date. On her first replay of that first date. She had worn it during that first kiss, too. The first hug. Everything.   
  
She'll wear it someday after, she knows. She'll be able to twirl in it once more after the weight is gone. It'll take too long, she thinks. It'll hang in the closet, collect dust until she can fit into it again. Really, she shouldn't get so worked up over some sky-blue dress. There are plenty of other pretty dresses she can wear. She tilts her head, soon reaching fingers to take out hairties and comb through braids, undoing the precious twirls and twists she made. She rakes through, humming a lullaby she needs to practice. It's rusty. She hasn't opened that locket in sometime, now that she thinks about it. Soon, she's got it down pat, her hair coming down in curls, wavy, soft. She shakes her head and they bounce, she rakes through and her lashes lower, her now-longer hair falling on bones, in the crevices of her collarbone. Her humming dies down as she drops her hands into her lap, feeling drowsy.   
  
She's only struck out from drowsiness when Zuko comes home with what Rose had asked him to go gather. She blinks open her eyes, looking over at him. Zuko stalls, having not expected her to take out those pretty braids that sometimes hit him when she turned too fast. The way her brown hair frames her face and falls to her shoulders sweeps him from the door. She stands up and he can see that tiny bump. He suddenly feels ten times happier. It's as if it isn't snowing outside and the storm isn't picking up. He shuts the door, moves to set the bag down in the kitchen. His wife follows him, helps unload the packages. Jugs of milk. Some cookies. Brownie mix. Things Rose is craving at the moment -- mainly sweets. She has a celery craving, now, but she doesn't mention it.   
  
"Thank you," she whispers, leaning in to kiss Zuko on the scarred side. She puts her hand on the opposite side, feeling the coldness and hoping to give him some warmth. He smiles, nods, leans in and brushes their different in temperature noses. Rose chuckles, her fingers moving to go to the back of Zuko's neck, soon pulling away as she moves to fix something up. He catches her, hand on her stomach. She pauses, glancing over before giving another smile. She's still rather self-conscious, knowing this dress won't fit soon, knowing she's only going to get bigger until that ninth month comes. She's already growing insecure about her body, but she knows it won't matter. Her body is still Zuko's and Zuko will still love it even if she grew as big as a house. His hand strokes lovingly, makes her warm. She can't tell if he's heatbending or if it's just the general warmth of him. Rose presses into it anyway.  
  
"The dress looks even better on you now," Zuko states, soon his other arm moving to wrap around the young woman, cradling her close. She blushes hard, looking down as she feels her knees grow weak. Nervousness settles within her and she feels her heart swell. Her insecurities are chased away just like that. She falls inside.  
  
"You're so sweet," she humbly replies. They both chuckle softly, detaching shortly after Zuko makes mention of preparing tea. Rose whips up a small treat to go along with it, the two of them sitting down at their table. Soon, they won't live here anymore. They'll have a home. A child, unexpectant, but welcomed. They'll be there together. Zuko reaches for Rose's hand, caresses it, and leans in.   
  
Outside, the storm wages.


End file.
